Memories of Conferences Past

The van pounded down the freeway as rain and snow mix spattered against the windshield. The heat was keeping the six passengers and the driver comfortable despite the dropping temperatures outside. We had left the parking lot of the school about 9:30 p.m., heading to Hollywood for the Associated Collegiate Press journalism conference. As I watched the miles of highway pass by, I thought about my last trip to California by motorcycle for last year’s conference.

Hunter Thompson, my favorite author, wrote a story about a ride that he used to do from San Francisco to San Jose along California Highway 1, in the middle of the night. I wanted to run this route myself, on my own bike. I was determined to make it happen, so I started planning.

I was going to head down Interstate 5 and cut across to Highway 101 at Sacramento, the quicker way. However, at the last minute, the weather reports started calling for snow in Ashland. Damn. So, I was forced into taking the coast route.

The day of the trip, I strapped my bags to my bike, got suited up, fired it up and headed out of town. By the time I hit the mountains heading to the coast, I began to question my sanity. I decided to just kept persevering, knowing that it couldn’t rain forever. However, if it didn’t stop by the time I made it to the California border, I was going to turn around and get my car.

Pulling into Brookings, Ore., it was sunny and starting to warm up. I started getting excited, thinking that the trip was actually going to work out for me.

Before leaving the house, I had looked at the map and saw that Highway 101 went inland once it hit California. I heard from someone in Brookings that there was no rain the rest of the way to San Francisco. I was going to get a chance to warm up and dry off. What I failed to notice on the map was that although the highway went inland, it also gained about 2000 feet in elevation. It wasn’t raining any more, but the ambient temperature dropped about 15 degrees. I was wet and cold. But I was committed.

In the end, I spent a total of 15 and a half hours in the saddle. I arrived in San Francisco stiff, sore, and shivering.

I was still too sore to do the ride down Highway 1, so my motorcycle just stayed parked for the weekend as I worked the kinks out of my knees.

For the trip home, I took Interstate 5 the whole way, as the weather was very nice. For a while the hardest part was keeping cool enough.

At first I was a little wary of letting someone else drive all the way to Hollywood, but the more I thought about how I could be out there on a bike in the horrible weather.